Close Quarters
by Aisalynn
Summary: With the fire going and her hair feeling a little less like a soaking wet rats nest against her neck, Emma finally turned to the piece of furniture she'd been ignoring since she stepped into the room. The bed was awfully small.
1. Chapter 1

The tavern door opened again as a group of men walked through, sending a blast of cold air to the table Emma was sitting at. She tugged her jacket closer against her, unable to suppress a small shiver. Her hair and jeans were still soaked from the rain, but she was reluctant to move closer to the fire on the other side of the room. She already felt conspicuous in her jeans and red leather jacket and she didn't want her presence among the men socializing near the fireplace construed as an invitation to question her.

All she really wanted was to sleep. It had been a long trek from where the spell, or curse or whatever it was had spat them out—conveniently in the middle of nowhere—and it wasn't a comfortable walk. The storm outside had been going on since midday and Emma found out that her favorite boots, while fine for a short hike around the woods surrounding Storybrooke, were not meant to be walked in for hours at a time. Her feet were killing her.

She glanced over at the bar. Hook still seemed to be deep in negotiations with the owner and Emma sighed, stretching her legs out a bit and trying to get as comfortable as she could on the rickety wooden chair she was sitting on. There was nothing else for her to do but watch the other people in the tavern and she found herself eyeing the swords at the men's hips, and the way one man casually herded the bar maid to his table with the back of his wooden bow. She wished for her gun. She felt uneasy, uncertain in a way that reminded of the last time she was here, and she really wanted to familiar weight of her holster under jacket.

It didn't matter if she was born here. This was not her world.

Her view of the rest of the tavern was suddenly blocked as Hook sat down across from her. "Well, Swan," he sighed, "we got ourselves a room."

Her eyes shot up to meet his. "_A _room?"

"Aye," he nodded wearily. "And we were lucky to get that. This close to the city and with this storm pushing everyone inside it was a surprise that there was a room open at all. As it is I had to pay double its worth just to secure it." He shot a dark look at the owner behind the bar.

One room. And she had no doubt that meant one bed, too. This situation was the exact _last _thing she wanted to deal with, but she was exhausted and cold and the storm was still pounding against the wooden shutters of this drafty tavern, and she needed to sleep so she could figure out a way to get home to Henry.

She groaned. "Fine. Let's just go." She hoped the room at least had its own fireplace.

They made their way through the crowded room to the small staircase in the corner. Emma could see out of the corner of her eye the looks her clothes were getting, but she ignored them, trudging tiredly up the narrow stars behind Hook. The room he had rented was the last one on the right, drafty from the two outside facing walls, and had one bed, a chair and a tiny fireplace with an even tinier fire already burning. Emma looked at the meager supply of the firewood beside it and her shoulders slumped.

This was going to be a miserable night.

"We have this room for tonight," Hook said as he followed her in, "but we are going to have to figure something else out tomorrow. It took nearly all I had to pay for it and now that we've paid double he's not going to accept anything less."

Emma leaned over the fireplace, carefully placing one of the few logs on the fire. "You said we were close to the city, right?" She straightened up, dusting off her hands.

"Yes. It's not a half hour's walk away. But—"

She cut him off. "Then it's no problem. Cities mean plenty of wealthy people on the streets to pickpocket. We'll be fine." She could feel a little more heat from the fire now that she fed it and she stripped off her jacket and tossed it onto the chair by the window.

"Why, Swan, I am disappointed."

She looked up from finger combing her wet hair, eyebrows raised in question.

"Here I thought petty thievery was below the Savior, not to mention the Sheriff." He smirked at her.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm not the Sheriff here. And it wouldn't be the first time I've done it. Look," she stopped trying to detangle her hair and turned to face him directly, "the important thing here is to find a way back home. _Without_ changing anything. I don't want to pull a Marty McFly and erase myself from ever existing. For one thing, I don't play the guitar that well. So we'll do whatever we have to in order to break this spell, or curse or whatever it is or find another one to take us home, without anyone we may know finding out we are ever here. Understood?"

"Yes. But, ah," he held up on finger in the air, "I do have one question."

Emma crossed her arms and leaned back on her heel, waiting.

"Who is Marty McFly?"

She release her arms and breath with a sigh. "Just… never mind," she said tiredly, suddenly aware again of just how exhausted she was. With the fire going and her hair feeling a little less like a soaking wet rats nest against her neck, Emma finally turned to the piece of furniture she'd been ignoring since she stepped into the room.

The bed was awfully small.

It wasn't quite a twin, but it wasn't exactly a full either, with only one slightly long pillow at the top. They couldn't possibly share the bed with any real space between them.

Hook caught her expression as she looked at the bed. "You take it," he softly. "I'll be fine in the chair." He gestured with his hook to the straight backed, wooden chair by the window. "Someone needs to keep watch anyway."

Gone was the playful smirk from a few minutes ago, his expression settling into that same sad, apologetic one he'd worn around her since Neverland, and Emma felt something twist inside of her at the sight of it. She wished that they could go back to how it was before: the wicked grins and innuendos, the bickering. She knew how to act around him then, and they understood each other immediately in a way that allowed for things to be comfortable between them no matter what was going on. It was so different from the tension in the room now.

It didn't matter though. She knew Hook was as tired as she was. What's more, he had landed hard when the curse sent them here, and she saw the limp that he tried to hide. A night in that chair would only make whatever injury he had worse, and they both needed to be in the best shape possible to get home.

"Keep watch for what?" she asked, dismissing his excuse. "No one even knows we're here. No," she continued firmly, "we'll share the bed. But that—" Emma pointed at his hook. "—needs to come off. I have no idea if you flail in your sleep and I don't want to risk it."

He rolled his eyes but did what she said, unscrewing the hook and placing in on the small table by the bed. Emma walked to the opposite side and sat down, leaning forward to unzip her boots. Behind her she could hear Hook taking off his coat and sword, hanging both on the nob at the foot of the bed. He got in first facing away from her has he pulled the covers over his shoulder, and after a calming breath she did the same, tucking the thin blanket all the way up to her chin.

The bed was so small that they were pressed back to back, body heat seeping through the layers of fabric between them. She could feel the movement of each breath that he took and she felt hyper aware of just how close they were.

"Well," Hook said softly. "Goodnight, Swan."

Emma didn't reply. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

She was wide awake.

The fire had long since died out and she was too cold to get up and start it again, her mind would not stop thinking about Henry and how in the world she was supposed to travel _through time_ to get back to him, and she couldn't get that damn "Johnny B. Good" song out of her head.

She never really liked those Back to the Future movies anyway.

She sighed, hugging the blanket a little closer to her. She really should get up and start the fire again, even if there were only a few logs left. She started to move, sticking one foot out of the blanket in preparation, but withdrew quickly when she felt the cold.

Behind her she felt Hook sigh, and then he was sitting up, getting out of the bed and walking to the fireplace across from it. He didn't say anything as he got the fire going again, but when he returned the bed he didn't go right back to sleep, instead leaning half up against the headboard so he could peer down at her. "So what is it?" he murmured.

Emma pulled the blanket further up over her mouth, hiding from the cold. "What is what?"

"Whatever it is that is keeping you awake. You've been fidgeting and sighing for the last hour, making it hard for either of us to sleep."

"Sorry," she muttered.

Hook shifted, sinking down further on the bed so he wasn't so much hovering above her as he was lying beside her. "It's not your fault. Just…" he hesitated. "It might help if you talk about what's on your mind, is all."

She turned the idea over in her mind. She didn't think there was much he could help with, but then she'd been going through the same thoughts over and over again in her mind, and she wasn't getting anywhere. Maybe he was right. Maybe saying it out load will allow her mind to let it go for now.

"I just…" she started quietly. "I just keep thinking about Henry. He's got to know we're missing by now, and he's going to be worried."

"The lad's strong. You know that he more than anyone else will believe that you'll come back to him," he reassured her.

"But that's just it. I don't know how _to _get back to him. We can't talk to my parents, or Regina, and even if we do find a spell to take us home my magic is gone. I can't cast it."

He was quiet behind her. Then she felt him let out a small gust of air, as if he had been holding his breath. "I am so sorry, Emma. If it weren't for me you would be able to use your magic to find away home. If you hadn't had to—"

Abruptly she rolled over so she was facing him. "No. There's no point in blaming yourself."

"But—"

She stopped him before he could say anymore. "It was my decision. I wasn't going to let you die, Killian."

He stopped arguing at the use of his given name, and just stared at her for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth as took in her expression. Emma was suddenly very aware of how close they were, of how she could feel his breath ghost along her jaw and neck.

"You should have told me when she cursed you though," she told him, mostly to break the tension. "We would have figured it out."

"I can see that now." The corner of his lips turned up in a self-depreciating smile, and Emma suddenly missed his real one. Not the apologetic half smile he tended to give, or the smirking grin he used when he drawled out another innuendo, but the one she'd only seen a few times—when she did something to surprise him, or when he was talking to Henry. It made him look younger somehow, boyish, and so unlike the jaded pirate she met over a year ago.

On an impulse she leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly against his, pulling back before he could react. She glanced up, gauging his reaction.

He looked shocked, eyes wide as his right hand drifted involuntarily toward his lips. "What was that for?"

She shrugged one shoulder, unable to help a small smile. "Mouth to mouth isn't exactly a kiss. I figure we were cheated."

He raised one eyebrow. "We?"

She shot him a look. "Don't look too much into it." With that she rolled back over, grabbing the blanket and tucking it around her shoulder. Hook didn't move for a moment and then she felt him start to follow her example and roll back over to face the other wall. "Wait." She looked over her shoulder, reaching out one and to grab on to his sleeve.

He looked down at her in question.

"The fire is going to die out again soon; we might as well try to stay as warm as we can so we don't have to build it up again."

He stared at her for moment, peering into her eyes as if to see if she was sure, then he nodded, sinking down into the bed beside her, his front to her back. She let go of his sleeve and lay back down, and a moment later he hesitantly tucked his hookless arm around her waist.

They were quiet for a while, and Emma was just feeling herself finally slip into sleep when he spoke again.

"You don't have to worry about getting home to Henry, love. You'll find away. Trust me."

She thought about his unwavering faith that she would find Henry in Neverland, and how he implored her to trust him and drink the memory potion in New York and, as she scooted herself back a little more in order to feel the warmth coming from him, she decided to do just that.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the sound of a door slamming that woke her. Through the thin walls she could hear people in the other rooms, the sounds of distant footsteps and muffled voices as they got up to go about their day. Reluctantly, Emma opened her eyes. The pale beams of light coming through the cracks of the window shutters were the only light in the room. The fire must have died out completely sometime in the night, not that it mattered. Emma didn't wake up once after she fell asleep last night.

Last night.

Suddenly Emma was all too aware of the arm wrapped snugly around her ribs, of the other arm she was somehow using as a pillow and of Hook's face tucked intimately against the back of her neck as he breathed _into her ear_.

She sat up, abruptly dislodging Hook's arm as she threw off the blanket and got out of the bed. She ignored Hook's confused sound of protest as she grabbed her boots and stalked over to the chair in the corner.

"Well, good morning to you too," he muttered groggily.

"Storms over," she told him as she sat down. She glanced up at him as he she pulled on her boots. He was sitting up on one elbow, hair mussed up in odd angles and he had a red crease on his face, starting from the right cheek bone and leading all the way down the corner of his lip. Emma felt her face flush slightly as she remembered the kiss last night. Now, in the light of day it seemed like such a careless, foolish thing to do.

Hook seemed to read her mind. "What? No kiss good morning?" he teased, meeting her eyes with a smirk.

She ignored him, looking down instead to focus on zipping up her right boot.

"You know Swan," he said as he got up, "you really are the master of the mixed signal."

She couldn't disagree.

They were quiet as they got ready. Hook's back was to her as stood on the other side of the bed, screwing the silver hook back into place before sitting back down on the edge of mattress and slipping on his own boots.

Emma bit her lip. The silence felt heavy between them and she felt like she should say something to apologize or explain but she had no words to do so. She stood up, grabbing her leather jacket. "Look," she started, and he looked up over his shoulder as he slipped his own coat on. "I just… I need to focus on getting home. It's the only thing that matters right now."

The smile he shot her over his shoulder was sad. "I know," he said quietly. "Now, we better go before the owner comes in to kick us out." He tugged the collar of his coat in place and then headed for the door.

Somehow, Emma didn't feel any better.

The tension between them eased during the walk from the tavern to the city. It was an easy—if muddy—walk along a wide dirt road, and they shared the journey with several other people from the tavern, as well as the few carriages and wagons full of goods that passed them along the way.

"So am I going to see these pickpocketing skills of yours?" Hook asked as the gates to the city came into view.

Emma tried to ignore it as another group of people stared in confusion at her clothes. "First things first," she muttered. "We have to get me something else to wear."

Hook paused in the street to look her up and down. "Hm. You do stand out a bit, love."

Emma rolled her eyes at his playful leer. "Exactly. And the key to successful pickpocketing is blending in. So," she sidled up to him, slapping a hand down on his shoulder as she peered up at him with a smile. "Time for a wardrobe change."

"And how are we going to manage that?" Hook asked as she walked on ahead of him.

Emma turned around, holding up the small leather pouch of coins she'd slipped out of his pocket. "With this, I'd imagine," she grinned as she walked backwards through the gate.

Surprise flickered across his face as he automatically reached into his coat pocket. "Well, Swan," he began, voice impressed, "it seems you do have some skill at that."

"Another key to successful pickpocketing:—"she tossed the pouch back to him "—distraction."

He caught the pouch easily, and his face broke into a smile. A real one, Emma was pleased to note. "Alright, Swan," he chuckled as he slipped the pouch back into his pocket, "I'll follow your lead."

They used the last of Hook's money at a small stand in the market, purchasing a threadbare gray dress and a blue cloak that Emma slipped on over her jeans and tank top in an empty alley behind a butchers shop. She stuffed her sweater and leather jacket in a small satchel they bought and then headed back out into street, ready to blend in to the masses.

Hook smiled when he caught sight of her, eyeing the tattered dress and mud stained cloak. "If I didn't know better I would say you were from here."

"Technically, I am," she muttered distractedly. She was eyeing the crowd on the busy street, looking for a target. She didn't like the idea of stealing from someone who couldn't afford to lose anything but in this part of the market there didn't seem to be too many people of wealth walking around. According to Hook the wealthier crowd liked to stick to the shops and booths in the center of the city, and therefore close to the castle where there were plenty of armed guards around. Which wasn't an ideal situation for pickpocketing.

Finally, she spotted someone. He was a middle aged man with a bright blue tunic and shiny new leather boots and when he passed by the stand selling fresh fish he pulled out a bright white handkerchief and held it up to his nose with a look of distaste.

Perfect, she thought. He looked rich enough to make the job worth it, but also out of place enough that he might not suspect anything. Emma nodded her head at the man and Hook followed her gaze, a smirk forming on his lips when he caught sight of her target.

"Well, Swan, let's see what you got."

She didn't reply, instead just shooting him a confident smile of over her shoulder as she slipped into the crowd.

Emma planned out the theft in her head as she walked down the street. She couldn't just slip a hand into his pocket as she passed him by—most men seemed to have a small coin purse tied to their belt instead, which required a lot more effort—so she decided to go with a classic. She pulled the front of her dress down a bit and untied the strings at the top to lower neckline and then she ducked her head down and clutched the satchel in front of her, speeding up her steps, as if she were in a hurry.

She collided into the man with a calculated force: just hard enough that his arms reached out automatically to catch her, but not hard enough to knock them both down.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she gasped out. "I wasn't looking where I was going." Though she still the bag in one hand, her other hand had gone to his side when she ran into him, as if she were trying to catch her balance.

Predictably, his focus immediately landed on her chest and the cleavage she was showing off. "No, no, you're fine. The fault was mine," he muttered to her chest.

Emma wanted to roll her eyes but smiled up at him instead as her right struggled with the knot to the leather pouch he wore. It was tied tighter than she thought. "It really was my fault. I was in a hurry and I wasn't paying attention."

The man shrugged. "There was no harm done." He started to step back.

The knot still wasn't untied so Emma pressed forward, stopping his movement. "Uh, I should thank you," she blurted out. "For—for catching me, I mean." She gave him a shy smile and looked up at him through her lashes, making sure to push her chest forward just a little bit more as the string finally came loose from his belt.

"You're very welcome." A slight blush formed on his otherwise palled cheeks and Emma smiled wider as she slipped the small purse into the satchel.

"Thanks again," she murmured and the slipped by him, walking quickly down the narrow street. She kept going until she felt she was far enough away and then she turned down an alley, following it to the next street so she could double back to where Hook was waiting.

He was still by the butcher's shop, leaning on the outside of the building, one foot propped up against the brick wall as he surveyed the street. She smiled broadly at him when he caught sight of her, shaking the leather pouch in the air.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "_That_ was you blending in?"

"No, _that_ was me being distracting." She tossed him the purse.

"I'd say you are at that," he muttered, eyeing her the changes she made to her dress.

She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Enough. We still aren't done. I don't want to keep doing this when we should be focusing on getting home so let's just get enough to last a while."

"Fine. But this time," he pushed off the wall with a wicked grin, "I get to join in the fun."

They headed further into the city, where the goods sold were made up of clothes, leather and jewelry instead of food and the streets were more crowded and filled with people in more brightly colored clothing and heavier purses. Emma didn't collide into anymore men since Hook turned out to be deft with a knife, easily slicing though the strings of several coin purses as he pushed pass the men in the crowd, and she showed off her own skills: targeting the men with coats instead of tunics. She slipped her hand inside their pockets as they stopped to talk to someone on the street or as they were haggling with a merchant and then disappearing back into the crowd, prize clutched in her palm.

It felt a game: catching each other's eyes over the crowd as they spotted a new target, presenting their stolen coins to each other in the back alleys with a smile, constantly trying to one up on another, to be better or faster or sneakier than the last time. By the time she was distracting an older gentleman at the jewelry stand—earnestly asking him his opinion on a copper bracelet she told him she was going to buy for her mother—she had a hard time keeping a straight while Hook moved into place behind him.

"You see I've been saving up all year for her birthday," she elaborated her story, not missing the doubtful glance he had shot her somewhat tattered dress, "and I just want it to be perfect." She almost broke character as she saw Hook pretending to seriously study a rack of dainty silver headbands, forcing back the smile that tried to fight its way to her lips.

The man tutted at the bracelet. "I don't know, my dear, this bracelet is rather large and if she is as tiny and delicate as you then it will probably take away from her." He smiled at her in what he must have thought was a charming way and Emma tried not to pay attention to Hook as he brushed up against the man and then walked away, no doubt with a leather pouch in hand.

"You're right," she said hastily, dropping the bracelet back down on to the table. "I'll just keep looking. Thank you!" Then she darted off, laughter bubbling up in her chest as she left the confused man and merchant to follow Hook.

He dropped the coin purse into the now heavy satchel when she met up with him. "I think we may have gone overboard, love," he said laughingly as he eyed the bulging bag.

"You don't know how long we may have to stay here. We need to prepared," she argued. She didn't want to admit that for last hour she'd really just been keeping it up because it was fun.

She _was _having fun. A lot of it. Somehow this morning had reminded her of when she was younger-back when she wasn't a mother or a sheriff or the Savior, and she was just Emma: out in the world and enjoying her freedom.

Still, she thought as she slipped the heavy bag over her shoulder, he was probably right. "Okay," she agreed, "no more. We have enough."

"Not quite." She raised her eyebrows questioningly and he grinned, slipping his hand in his pocket and pulling out something silver. "For you." He dipped into a small bow, arm outstretched as he presented it to her. It was a tiny silver headband, the metal woven into delicate strands and twisted to form the shapes of flowers and leaves. Emma recognized it as one of the pieces Hook and had been looking at while she was distracting the older man.

"Hook!" She snatched the headband from him, looking around to make sure no one saw he had it. "We were only supposed to pickpocket enough to live off of, not steal unnecessary jewelry from struggling merchants!"

He straightened out of the bow, dropping his hand. "I'm a pirate, love. I don't exactly draw the line at pickpocketing. Besides," he continued, "I saw the jeweler hit the errand boy earlier." Hook shrugged as he said it, as if it only mattered as an excuse, but there was an edge of tight anger to his voice.

Emma looked down, fingers tracing lightly over the headband. A pirate he may be, but he certainly wasn't as simple as he like to claim.

"Here," he stepped closer, gently taking the band from her hands. "Allow me." He reached up and placed it on her head and as he tucked it into her hair he looked down at her with a pleased, almost proud smile.

Emma's breath caught, all of sudden vividly reminded of a similar situation.

Sitting in the bug with Neal as he turned to her, proud smile on his face and the swan keychain dangling from his hand.

She quickly stepped back, her good mood gone. "Come on," she muttered, avoiding his eyes, "we might as well find some place to stay before all the rooms fill up."

"You're not serious," Emma ground out in frustration. "You really have only one room left?" She was leaning across the bar of the fourth—_fourth—_inn they had tried and still no luck. It wasn't even late afternoon yet and it seemed like every place was either filled up or had only one room available.

The owner shot her a bored look. "That's right. Only one room, and you are lucky we have that. What with the ball in a couple of days every room in the city is going to be taken."

At that Hook, who had been oddly quiet since they left the alley, leaned forward, brows creased. "What ball?"

The owner looked at him like he was an idiot. "The royal ball of course. King George is announcing his son's engagement to King Midas's daughter. Everyone knows that."

Hook sucked in a breath and grabbed her elbow, pulling her away from the bar.

"What is it?" Emma asked once they were in a quiet corner away from everyone else.

"Well, I know when we are now," he muttered, forehead still creased in worry.

"But that's a good thing isn't it?"

"Not exactly. You see, I remember this ball. Very well," he whispered. "I was here, in the city, and I had gotten hold of some information that the Dark One would be attending the ball."

"But, why would he—"

"Turns out King George had made several deals with him, and he'd gone to collect."

"So you went to the ball to kill him." Hook nodded. "Well, I don't see the problem. Obviously, you didn't kill him, because he is still alive in Storybrooke in the future."

"No, I didn't kill him. But there is a reason for that." He took a deep breath. "For years I thought it was either the rum, or the head injury or maybe some trick on the Dark One's part, but the night I went to kill him, I was stopped by…well, by me."

"You," Emma said slowly. "You stopped yourself from killing Rumpelstiltskin."

He nodded. "Aye. And there's more."

Emma sighed. "Really?"

"Though I didn't see her face, I distinctly remember there being a blonde woman there too."

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to stop the headache she could feel coming. "So what you are saying is we have to find a way to get inside that ball and stop your past self from killing the Dark One."

"Yes. Otherwise he won't be able to have Regina enact the dark curse."

Emma looked up at him, dropping her hand as the full seriousness of the situation hit her. "And Henry will never be born."

Hook nodded again, expression serious and worried.

Emma let out a deep sigh and looked down at the bag full of stolen money. "Well, I guess it's a good thing we have all this. It's going to take a lot of money if we are going to fit in at a ball."


	3. Chapter 3

The bed in the new room was no bigger than the one in the last.

Hook didn't offer to take the chair this time. In fact, he didn't say much at all as they got ready for bed, stripping off his coat and boots before slipping under the covers and rolling away from her without a word. He'd been quiet most of the day, the playful attitude from the morning long gone, and Emma wasn't a fool enough to think it was just worry over stopping his past self that was dimming his mood.

Emma stared at the cheerfully burning fire on the opposite side of the room. At least they had enough money for the extra firewood, she thought as she tried to get comfortable on the bed. Despite her exhaustion from the day her mind seemed wide awake. She could feel Hook's back move against hers as he breathed, and she knew, despite what he wanted to appear, that he wasn't asleep either.

Emma sighed and tucked the blanket more firmly around her shoulders, preparing herself for a restless night.

When she finally woke the next day the midmorning sunlight was already pouring in brightly from the windows and the tavern was alive with the sound of customer's and guests milling about in the main room below. She drowsily sat up and looked around her.

Hook was gone.

She found him downstairs. He was sitting at a table in the corner eating a breakfast of eggs and what Emma could only call porridge, since it certainly didn't look like any kind of oatmeal she'd seen before.

"I don't suppose chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries is on the menu here," she muttered as she sat down across from him.

"Strawberries?" he raised his eyebrows at her. "Definitely the wrong season for that, love."

God, they could only get fruit by the season here. Didn't they have greenhouses yet?

Emma pressed her palms to her eyes. "What about coffee. Can we do coffee?"

"Sure, if we can manage to get an invite from one of the richest nobles in the city." He flagged down one of the waitresses. "I believe my companion would like some tea. Strong."

Emma sighed and dropped her hands. Tea would have to do. "And some eggs, too, please," she added to the order, smiling tiredly at the girl. She wasn't going to touch the porridge.

"So," she said once the girl had gone. "The ball is tomorrow night." He nodded. "Why don't you tell me all you can remember about that night. Starting with how you planned on killing Gold in the first place. Dreamshade?"

The chair creaked as he leaned forward, bracing his good arm on the table. "Aye, I had that, but there was something else as well. I had… acquired a special blade. Legend had it that it could kill anything, magical or no."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "And how did you 'acquire' this blade?"

"Alright, I stole it," he huffed. "From Blackbeard, actually, and it was the start of a very unpleasant relationship. Can I go on now?"

Emma nodded, fighting a smile.

"Anyway, I stole the blade and then I started looking for a chance to use it on him. Some of the King's servants had overheard him talking about the Dark One coming after the ball and I persuaded them-"

"You mean threatened or bribed."

He shot her a look. "-persuaded them to tell me everything they knew. Then I snuck into the castle through the service entry and waited for my chance. I figured if the blade couldn't kill him then the poison I coated it with might and vice versa."

"But you didn't know for sure that either of them would work on The Dark One. For all you know you could have been heading to your own death."

Hook shrugged one shoulder, fingers curling around his own mug of tea. "Didn't matter."

She studied him and as he sipped at his tea, trying to imagine what that would be like to have so little but the hatred for someone else that you didn't even care if you lived or died. She had been alone for most of her life, but she'd thankfully never been to that point. And now she had Henry. But what did Hook have now? Besides a crew to captain with no ship to sail, and the hope that she might...

She cut that thought off. "So. Magic knife. Royal ball." She sat back against her chair. "Some days I still have trouble believing this is my life."

"That why you are going back to New York when we get back?"

Emma looked up at Hook in surprise. Neither of them had brought up New York since they'd been unceremoniously dumped in the past, and if Emma were honest, she hadn't been thinking much about it either. She met his eyes, unsure of what to say.

Before she could say anything the server was back, placing a plate of fried eggs and a mug of tea in front of her. She smiled her thanks and immediately picked up the mug, grateful for an excuse to let the subject drop.

They split up after breakfast. Before they left Hook briefly went over the value of the coins they had stolen and the expected cost of the gown she needed to buy. When she had raised her eyebrows at him he had shrugged carelessly.

"Pirate, love. It wasn't just gold that we took from other ships, but their goods too. And silk fetches a fair price."

Now, armed with this knowledge,she walked further into the city toward the shops Hook had suggested would most likely carry what she needed. She was glad for the time to herself. On the surface things were fine between them. The heavy silences from the afternoon before were gone. Hook had stopped brooding and the conversation continued without any awkward pauses, but all during breakfast Hook had smiled that smug half grin that never reached his eyes, and as they walked down the street to the shops he seemed to deliberately keep distance between them.

It was her own fault, Emma reminded herself. They were working well together yesterday-no, not just that. They were having fun. She hadn't just been in a good mood because the pickpocketing was going well, she'd felt practically giddy, and carefree in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. As much as she'd like to fool herself, she knew exactly when the last time she felt like that, and why.

It was that realization that had brought her good mood crashing into the ground.

Emma sighed as she walked up to the door of a promising looking shop. It didn't matter anyway. She had no time to soothe Hook's hurt feelings or sort out her own twisted emotions. All that mattered was that she had to stop the past Hook from killing Rumplestiltskin and somehow get back to Henry. With that thought in mind, she pushed open the heavy wooden door to the shop and stepped in, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.

She was surrounded by and velvet and lace and tulle and plenty of other types that she didn't even know the name of and all of it uncut and stacked on top of each other on tall wooden shelves. Emma eyed the small section of the store that had a selection of buttons and beads in tiny little baskets and her stomach sank. It didn't even occur to her that she'd have to order a ballgown to be made. How long did something like that take anyway? She doubted that it could be done in a day.

Someone to the left of her cleared their throat and Emma looked away from the blue silk she had been examining. A tall, round man dressed in dark brown velvet was eyeing her doubtfully from behind a wooden counter. "Excuse me," he drawled out, "but may I help you?"

His tone implied that he couldn't and his eyes lingered on the stained and tattered hem of the blue dress she was wearing, the same way many of the vendors of pricier items had done the day before. No doubt she looked like she could barely afford a single button from this place.

Reminding herself that while she had grown up as an orphan she was technically a princess, Emma straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I certainly hope so," she replied, doing her best to mimic Regina's bored and superior tone. She waved a hand down at her dress. "As you can see I am in need of new attire. Immediately." When the man hesitated she gave a loud sigh and held up the leather pouch she had with her, giving it a little shake so that the sound of the coins could be clearly heard. She raised her eyebrows. "Well?"

"Of course," the man said graciously as he hurried from around the counter. "If you'll just follow me to the back we have some ready made pieces that should suit you."

Emma followed him, fighting down a smile. The whole situation was just a little too Pretty Woman for her.

There wasn't much in the back. Emma supposed that it really was more common to have dresses ordered specifically for you than to just waltz into the shop and buy one from a hanger because the section he showed her to seemed to contain mostly cloaks and hats, a few shawls and collection of gloves. In the corner however, there was a small selection of dresses. Emma quickly went through them, knowing immediately that most of them wouldn't do. Even to her untrained eye she could tell that they were every day dresses. The fabric was of good quality but plain, and the skirts were narrow and practical, nothing like she would imagine a woman wearing at a ball. But as she reached the last few dresses a splash of color caught her eye.

"Ah," the shop owner murmured when he saw her pause over the dress. "You have excellent taste. That dress we actually had made for a young woman who was about your size. She was going to wear it to the very ball that the King is throwing tomorrow night. Unfortunately she never came to collect it. Last I heard her family was ruined. Lost everything when pirates attacked her father's ship." He tsked, shaking his head sadly. "Can't say it was wise to put one's entire fortune on one ships' worth of goods, but times are hard now and you have to do what you can."

He stood up straighter, as if shaking the sad thoughts from him and took a step forward, an eager gleam to his eye.. "Why don't you try it on? I can call up one of the seamstresses to make sure it fits. It would be a shame to see it go to waste. That dress is good enough for a princess, if I do say so myself."

Emma ran her hand down the smooth red silk, a slow smile forming on her lips. "It certainly is."

By the time Emma finished purchasing everything she needed for the ball, it was late in the evening. She hauled it all back to the tavern, ignoring the speculative glances she received as fellow patrons compared her tattered dress to the neatly wrapped packages in her arms. Great, she thought. They may have to take turns keeping watch now after all. With the way she just advertised their current wealth she wouldn't be surprised if someone tried to rob them.

Hook wasn't in their room when she entered it. Dumping the packages half hazardly on the bed she looked around, seeing no evidence that he'd been back since they left this morning.

And here she thought women were supposed to be the ones who took forever shopping.

It was nearly dinner time, she surmised, glancing through the window to the dim, gray sky, so she didn't linger in the room, instead locking the door behind her as she headed back downstairs. She spied a small table in the corner next to the fire and she quickly made her way over to it, flagging down the waitress she remembered from breakfast as she did.

"Are you wanting to order?"

"In a minute," Emma answered. " I was wondering if you had seen my friend? Dark hair? Long leather coat? Hook for a hand?"

The girl shrugged one shoulder, readjusting the wooden tray full of empty mugs as she did. "Not since you two left this morning."

Emma thanked her and quickly placed her order, sitting back with a sigh as the girl left. Looks like she was on her own for now.

She remained so for the rest of the evening. By the time she'd finished the thick stew and bread she'd ordered Hook still hadn't appeared, so she stayed where she was, palms curled around a mug of bitter ale as she watched the tavern crowd get rowdier and rowdier as the night went on. Several times a few men approached, slouching drunkenly against her table or collapsing into the empty chair as they invited her over to their table for a drink or a game of dice, but she refused and stayed where she was, unable to stop her gaze from shifting over to the tavern entrance.

Where was he?

Emma couldn't deny the worry eating away at her stomach. She'd learned from experience that anything could happen when you weren't expecting it. Especially here, in the Enchanted Forest. For all she knew Hook was currently being eaten by an ogre or something. Or had been placed under a curse. Or kidnapped by trolls.

God, she wanted to go home. Storybrooke may have it fair share of troubles, but at least it was lacking in ogres and _trolls._

There was also a smaller part of her mind that kept reminding her that Hook was a pirate. He was back in his home world, and thanks to their little pickpocketing adventure yesterday, he had his hands on plenty of money to help him start over here. She didn't really think he would do that, just leave her here. After all, he went out of his way to find her in New York just so he could reunite her with her family, she didn't think he would abandon her in the Enchanted Forest now. Still, there were a few a lingering doubts and the suggestion that maybe he had just finally given up.

On her.

Emma let out a small groan and rubbed tiredly at her eyes. Maybe it was time for her to just go to bed. These thoughts weren't helping anything and she was starting to receive dirty looks from the barman and her waitress. Probably for sitting here for several hours nursing the same drink.  
She opened up the small leather purse she had been carrying around all day and dropped enough coins on the table to cover the meal and tip and then wearily made her way up the stairs to her room.

Hook was an adult, and more at home here than she ever would be. He didn't need her waiting up for him.

Emma couldn't sleep. For the third night in a row she was curled up in scratchy blankets on an uncomfortable bed, wide awake. When she finally got home, she thought irritably, the first thing she was going to do after seeing Henry was collapse onto her own bed and sleep for at least 12 hours straight.

She'd been in her room for hours. The noise from the tavern crowd had long since died down, and the only noises came from the crickets outside and the various drunk, shuffling footsteps as the other patrons made their way back to their rooms.

Hook still wasn't back.

She'd tried to forget about it. She'd busied herself with the fire and with putting the packages and satchel full of stolen purses under the bed and out of immediate site when she first came into the room. Then she curled up on the bed, unsuccessfully attempting to force her mind and body to relax and go to sleep.

Finally, just when she had given up on the idea of him coming back at all tonight, she heard the slow tread of footsteps heading for her door, followed by the click of the door knob as it was turned.

"Swan? You awake?"

Emma released the breath she had been holding at the sound of his voice, but didn't answer. The relief she felt when she realized it was him suddenly gave way to irritation. She felt angry both at him for disappearing for so long and at herself for worrying so much. So when he whispered her name one more time, peering down at the bed, she kept her eyes closed, forcing her breath to stay shallow and even as she feigned sleep.

Behind her she heard him sigh and start to strip off his coat and boots. A few minutes later the bed dipped as he got in beside her, and as he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders a puff of air was released, bringing with it the scent of something sweet and flowery.

Perfume? Emma's stomach twisted at the thought. It wasn't any of her business, she told herself. Still, her hand involuntarily curled tightly around the corner of her pillow as the idea of how he ended up smelling that way flickered through her mind. On the other side of the bed Hook had settled down onto the pillow, his back lightly resting against hers. It wasn't long before she could tell he had drifted off into sleep.

Emma was awake much longer.


End file.
